Who are you?
by MissScorp
Summary: The first time someone asked Daryl Dixon who he was he had been five and facing the biggest challenge of his life: his first day of Kindergarten. T for mild swearing and adult themes and situations. One-shot. *Complete*


Daryl stared at the huge wood door covered in one long piece of black construction paper and with crayon shapes plastered around a rainbow that read _Mrs. Martin's Kindergarten Class_ and felt his belly cramp like it had after he got sick from eating too many of the blackberries he and his brother found while campin' over the summer. A shudder snaked through him as he remembered how he'd been sick as a dog for days upon days upon days. Merle had laughed and laughed and laughed at his misery, tellin' him it served his dumb ass right for stuffin' so many of the damn things in his mouth, and that he wouldn't make such a pig of himself the next time.

It was a lesson he weren't gonna forget for as long as he lived.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and slowly, cautiously reached up to grasp hold of the handle of the door. It felt like a lump of ice against his palm and he instantly let it go, backing away and staring at it as if the knob suddenly had grown horns and a tail.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Merle grumbled. "Quit bein' a pussy and open the damn door."

He glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye. Merle looked like their daddy after he drank a bottle of his _medicine_. His eyes looked as red as fresh strawberries and his face was all wet and puffy and white. Daryl wondered if Merle had soaked his head in the water fountain and not taken a drink from it. His mop of muddy curls was plastered to his head and his hands were shaking as if he'd seen a haunt or booger. He even reeked like their daddy did after a night of drinking and smoking.

Daryl's nose wrinkled when Merle let out a loud belch and a whiff of his breath smacked him in the face. He reckoned it smellin' so bad meant the medicine was workin'. Otherwise, why would his daddy, mama, and Merle guzzle so much of it? Either way, he vowed he was only gonna drink that stuff if he was _real_ sick.

"Well?" A cuff to his ear accompanied Merle's question. "Hell, you waitin' for? A personal invitation?"

"No," he mumbled as he rubbed his throbbing ear. "I ain't."

"Then open the damn door."

That was the problem. He didn't _want_ to open the door. He didn't know what might be waiting on the other side. Knowing he'd only get another cuff if he continued dilly-dawdling, he reached up and grasped hold of the handle. The door opened into a large, sunshine filled a room that looked a little like that clinic he got drug to after his arm got broken. It wasn't completely like the clinic, though. Well, not really. The clinic had smelled a little like Merle did after he sprayed himself with some of that stuff in the fancy bottle he kept hidden beneath his bed. _No, this_ , he decided as he drew in a breath and held it. _This smells... clean_.

It kinda reminded him of how his friend Bo's house used to smell after his mom and grandmother got done cleaning it up. It was a pleasant smell. A nice one. It helped ease the balls bouncing around in his belly. He peeked through the thick fringe of hair hanging over his eyes and studied the room more deeply. It was much nicer than that clinic waiting room had been.

Everything had been white in the clinic, even the stubs of chalk shoved in the tray below the black chalkboard. However, the clinic had posters with numbers and medical things on them. Boring stuff. These pictures were a helluva lot more fun and interesting. And they covered almost every inch of the walls. There were even pictures over the top of the white board.

Many of them depicted shapes, sizes, numbers, and the letters of the alphabet on them in colorful and fun designs. A few featured Peanuts characters, Scooby Doo or Bugs Bunny. He found he liked those the best. He didn't get to watch cartoons much since mama and daddy were usually camped out in front of their television, but when he did get to watch them, he liked Yosemite Sam and Bugs Bunny cartoons the best. A huge wood cabinet stood between two sets of shelves along the back wall, its closed doors concealing its contents from his view. What treasures might be contained inside intrigued him, but not enough that it made him want to go into the classroom.

Daryl shifted his gaze to the shelves on the right side of the cabinet. Each one contained all sorts of books, paints, paintbrushes, packets of crayons, colorful paper stacked beside neatly arranged bottles of glue, blocks in varying shapes and sizes, and other types of what he supposed were learning things intended to teach dummies like him. The shelves on the left side had lunch-boxes and brown paper bags stacked neatly upon them. A rug in varying shades of blue, green and purple occupied one section of the room while four round tables sat across from it. Kids were already seated in the red chairs and staring at the small, gray-haired woman with the round face almost swallowed up by a pair of silver-rimmed glasses.

He guessed she was the teacher, Mrs. Martin.

"Now, children," Mrs. Martin said in a kind but firm tone of voice. "We're gonna start today by learnin' how to get up quietly from our seats and form a line in front of the door over at the doo- oh!" she exclaimed when she noticed him hovering in the doorway. "Well, hello there." A smile curved her lips and twinkled in the depths of her gray eyes. "And who are you?"

Every head in the room turned while she spoke to him. He gulped under the weight of so much public scrutiny. However, bright curiosity and not the disgust and hatred his older brother had told him he'd see shone upon their faces. A few of the kids smiled. One girl with big green eyes and the curliest hair he'd ever seen waved at him. Still, he found himself horribly embarrassed being the center of attention. He weren't nobody special. Just some no good, dirty little hillbilly the sheriff said needed proper schoolin'. He certainly didn't think he needed it. Who was gonna care if he knew how to read and write? Or add more than two and two?

Besides, he was just fine with learnin' his numbers and letters from his brother. Any of this fancier learnin' he was gonna get weren't gonna do him a lick of good, anyway. He weren't ever gonna be anything but redneck trash according to Merle. No matter how much fancy learnin' he got wouldn't change that he was no better than the rest of the folk in his town.

"What's your name, sweetie?" Mrs. Martin asked again. "Can you tell me what your name is?"

His insides popped and fizzed like a bottle of Coke. He opened his mouth to answer her, but nothing came out but for a big ole _whoosh_ of air. He went as still as a deer trapped in a set of headlights. Shame reached up to smother the panic and humiliation. He went to take a step back but Merle shoved him forward.

"Go on," he ordered in a low, warning voice. "Git the hell in there."

He shook his head and tried to back out but got a light rap to the back of his head for his efforts. He knew what that tap meant. There'd be hell to pay later if he didn't do exactly as Merle told him. However, he just couldn't force himself to go inside. He found he'd rather take a beating than go inside that classroom. Merle fixed it by pushing him into the room.

"I said git your ass in there."

"Don't wanna," he mumbled, horribly embarrassed and ill at ease. "Wanna go home."

"Aw, what'sa matter, Darylina?" Merle sneered, adding to his misery. "You scared?"

He lowered his head and stared at the floor. "No."

"Then quit beatin' around the bush and git the hell in there." Then Merle's voice dropped down to that menacing one he used when he had enough. "Else there gonna be hell to pay when I get your ass home."

Making Merle take him home would almost be worth the bruises and the pain. However, the gray-haired woman solved the problem when she crossed towards the door and held out her hand to him. "Here," she said with an encouraging smile. "Why don't you come with me?"

He flicked a hesitant look at his brother but saw Merle was already swaggering down the hall. Wasn't like he weren't used to seeing his brother's back. It had been all he'd been seeing of Merle for the last year or so. Miserably embarrassed, feeling acutely alone and abandoned, he turned back towards the teacher woman.

"C'mon, now." She gently took his hand. "Let's get you settled into a seat."

He allowed her to lead him into the classroom, mindful of the eyes upon him, knowin' what they were thinkin' of him, and feelin' even worse than he had after shovelin' down all them blackberries. He knew what they were thinking of him. Weren't like they were wrong. He was poor white trash compared to most of 'em.

"Here, why don't you sit beside Mindy?"

He did as she told him without bothering to look at either the kindly old woman or any of the kids seated at the table.

"Right, well," she said once he got himself settled beside the girl with the curly hair and big green eyes. "I'm Mrs. Martin." She waited until he lifted his eyes to hers. Nothing but kindness and warmth shone from behind the lenses of the glasses she wore. Daryl likened her to what he assumed Mrs. Claus would look like if she was real. "Now, who are you?"

He ducked his head and mumbled one word. "Daryl."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all and welcome!

This one-shot is the handiwork of a challenge between me and another lovely writer here on FFN, ReadingBlueWolf (check her out if you are a Jurassic World or Marvel fan!) I gave her a plot bunny about a one-shot about the first day of Kindergarten for Sherlock Holmes and she fired back about me doing one about Daryl on his first day of Kindergarten with the added caveat that Merle had to show up in it. Challenge accepted!

Please, if you like this piece, follow/favorite it!


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